Memory
by Springfall
Summary: Late at night, memories haunt Miguel. Migulio. ADULT.
1. 1: Memory

Memory

He sees Tulio everywhere.

Any dark head, any slim back, any set of narrow shoulders—and it sends his heart racing away. And then the head dips, the back bends, the shoulders hunch, and it's all right again, but still his stomach churns.

He barely sleeps at night, tossing and turning. Memories flood him. He remembers Spain, a lifetime ago. He remembers the lifeboat. He remembers how warm the grass always was, in the New World.

_I will always love you,_ he had whispered, curled along Miguel's side. Tulio's lips brushed his ear when he spoke, and it was as though they were one person. Wind ruffled that long hair, loose and damp from swimming, and Miguel could only say _Thank God._

But Miguel is alone with only his thoughts, and he knows now there are no Gods—only bitter humans, stealing and clawing their way to happiness. He perches on the edge of his pallet in some dank room, and he thinks _I am no better than he is_. His stomach rebels yet again and he leans over his chamber pot, vomits. It happens most nights. He empties his chamber pot out the window, knowing that no one will be out this late and if they are, they're up to no good and probably deserve a bucket of puke on their heads. He sighs, staring blankly out of the window.

He wonders where Tulio is now. He wonders if he has babies with Chel. He can't be angry with her, as hard as he tries. It wasn't her who broke his heart.

_It's just you and I,_ he had promised, fists clenched up in Miguel's own. _You and me forever. Partners, right?_ His smile had flashed out, brash and yet guarded, and Miguel—stupid and foolish and so in love—he had smiled back, and believed.

He pushes his hair out of his face, dirty blonde hair that wants washing but he doesn't care enough these days. Movement on the street catches his eye. A man is riding a white horse and new memories come rushing back—they always do. Perhaps it would be stranger to say memories went rushing out.

_You gave my life adventure_, he had cried out, and Miguel—foolish, trusting, weak from hunger and parched with thirst—had believed he was not just joking.

The man dismounts, willowy and dark-headed. Miguel tries to stop watching him. His boots are quiet on the paving stones. He seems unsure of where he is going.

_You are my wealth, _Tulio had panted, hot and sweaty above him, their legs slick and sliding against each other. His narrow back arched and he threaded his long hands through Miguel's thick blonde hair. _You are all the gold I've ever needed._

"No more memories," Miguel says out loud, standing up to close the window, to block out the pain. Too much pain can ruin a man. And though he still has faith—he still believes, still foolish after all these years, _same old dreamy Miguel_, he can't help but harden his heart (if just for tonight). Because the dark-haired men never are Tulio, and they never will be. The narrow shoulders are never the ones he has so fondly thrown his arms around. He lays down on the narrow pallet and stares up at the ceiling. "Not tonight."

There will be tomorrow night—and the next night, and the night after that, going on forever. Plenty of time for remembering.

At the sound of the shutters banging shut, Tulio looks up. 


	2. 2: Eternity

Eternity

Shutters slamming above his head cause him to look up. His dark eyebrows furrow. No one hangs out the window, but the shutters vibrate.

"So you're in," he murmurs, and the white horse nudges him anxiously in the back. "Yeah, yeah." He pushes back dark, unruly hair. He knits his hands together behind his head, puffing out his cheeks, blue eyes dark as he studies the dirty stucco exterior of this unassuming house. "This is where you ended up?" He is not aware he is talking to himself—he does it so often these days. He frowns, drops his hands, rubs them over his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble there. He can't help but be skeptical. There's no beauty in this place—something he has always expected from Miguel.

The horse snorts and impatiently shoves him forward. Tulio slaps aimlessly behind him, rubbing his narrow back with one hand, trying to think the best way to approach this. Overwhelming urgency seizes him, wants him to shout out loud until Miguel—that stubborn ass—opens the shutters or comes down to him, or lets him up.

But he doesn't. He is far too practical, too forward-thinking for that, he insists in his mind. His heart is screaming and trying to claw its way out of his chest, beating only for the blonde man somewhere above him.

The horse nips him this time, and Tulio hits him indignantly on the shoulder. "Why did I decide _you_ would be a good idea?" The horse snorts, as if to say, _if you don't do it, I will._ And indeed, while he continues to hesitate, Altivo snorts again and begins to squeal and whinny at the top of his lungs. "Stop, stop!" The man is frantic, waving his hands. "You want to wake the whole square?"

The horse watches him carefully with intelligent brown eyes.

"I'm going, fine," he grumbles, looking about for the best way up. He spots the gutter.

Swinging his legs up, he winces as a nerve in his back pinches, thinking _I'm not as young as we were once._ It brings him pain to think about and he shakes his head, long black hair falling in his eyes. Below him, Altivo whickers reproachfully, and Tulio sighs, continues to climb.

He reaches the sill where dark shutters are closed. Digging his fingers into the wood, he pulls back, but the shutters don't budge. He swears under his breath. He tries again, feet scrabbling for purchase. He fiddles with the seam of the two, and manages—barely—to pry them apart. He creaks them open as quietly as he can, and he slips inside, boots noiseless as they touch the hard-packed floor. He closes them behind him, though they fall open a crack, and a narrow bar of light falls across the room. Tulio stands in the shadows, quiet.

Miguel sleeps on the bed, on his back—like always—with nothing but a ratty blanket about his hips. His blonde hair looks darker, spread out on the pillow, and his mouth is closed. Tulio's eyes wander shamelessly. Miguel's broad chest is still paler than his own skinny frame. His stomach rises and falls as he breathes. Tulio feels a familiar tightening in his groin.

"What do you want?" The man on the bed growls out, and Tulio nearly jumps out of his skin.

"You're not asleep?"

"You idiot," Miguel replies with a bitter laugh. "I closed the window maybe five minutes ago."

"You might have been tired," Tulio points out, still leaning against the wall. He puts his foot backwards for balance, crooking his knee.

"I'm not," Miguel says shortly. He does not turn over to face Tulio—he wouldn't have been able to see him anyway, in this dim room. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Please leave."

"No."

"Tulio." Miguel turns over now to look in his direction. His green eyes are haunting and remind Tulio of the jungle. "Get out."

"No." Tulio shifts his weight. "I came to see you."

A mirthless laugh. "After five years?"

"I had things to work out."

"Like?"

"Things." He shifts again. "I had some…financial situations to sort."

"Where's Chel?" There's a distinct note of self-destruction in the question, and Miguel's eyes are closed.

"Gone."

"Good."

"Don't start."

Suddenly Miguel sits straight up, his face a mask of fury. "Don't tell me what to do or not to do in my own home, you prick. You're the one who came swinging in the window, not me. You're the one who shows up in the middle of the night. What the hell do you want?"

"To see you." The words sound weak, even to Tulio. Miguel stands up and if Tulio could back up, he would. Instead, he rocks back on his heels, spine pressed against the wall.

"To _see_ me?" Miguel's voice is high and cruel. "It's been _five_ _years_. If you really wanted to see me, you could pick a better—a more conventional time to do it." His face is twisted in a way that Tulio can't read.

"I thought I'd surprise you," Tulio whimpers, as Miguel stalks across the dirty floor towards him, and he's forgotten how strong this man it. Tulio—thin and lithe, maybe 110 pounds wet—cowers subconsciously, even though he's always been taller than the blonde man. Miguel is furious. Tulio squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the punch to fall.

But no strike comes, and cautiously Tulio opens one blue eye. Miguel has turned away from him and, with hesitance, Tulio takes a step forward and touches his old friend's strong back.

Miguel does not move.

"I've missed you," says Tulio quietly, stepping up until his chest and Miguel's back are flush together. "I missed my adventure."

"You made your choice," Miguel snaps, but Tulio feels him leaning back, and—trying to be casual but really his heart is pounding like a running horse—loops his long arms around Miguel's shoulders. He rests his cheek against the curve where Miguel's neck meets his body. He sighs, long and low.

"I made the wrong choice." His voice is mumbled, lips against Miguel's bare skin. His stubble scratches against Miguel but neither of them mind. "I don't know why I thought she could be you. She was nothing like you. No one is anything like you." He rests his chin thoughtfully, swaying a little with Miguel in his arms. "No one compares. That's why you're my partner—always have been. No one else."

"You and me forever," Miguel echoes, a line from far away.

"I meant it then and I mean it now," Tulio says softly, pushing aside Miguel's hair to run his thin fingers over the bones there. Miguel does his best not to shiver.

"You left me."

"I was stupid, Miguel."

"Yes." Miguel turns, twisting Tulio's arms around his back, and the taller man looks down, unsure. "You were. But you've always been stupid."

Tulio laughs. "You're still conceited."

Miguel lifts his hand to smooth back Tulio's wild hair, and in that one touch his resolves crumbles and Tulio, burning with desire and the guilt of five years, seizes his face and crushes his lips against the one person who has given him purpose.

It is partly surprise and a huge sweep of relief that seizes both of them at once, and with his well-remembered efficiency Miguel has Tulio's clothing off, Tulio pushing him back against the wall, knee between his thighs, making no secret of what he wants. Miguel manages to tug Tulio's wild hair loose from its tail, and it curls as he threads his fingers through it, jerks Tulio's head back, and finds the old places to kiss. Slender hands like spiders fumble with Miguel's trousers and then they are off—finally—and suddenly the night is that much colder though each man is burning.

"I shouldn't let you get any," Miguel pants roughly, the stucco digging into his back, as Tulio snakes his hands across the other's hipbones and presses lower.

"Probably not," Tulio agrees, smile curled up around his eyeteeth. One dark curl hangs in his eyes. "But you're going to give it to me, anyway, aren't you?" With lowered eyelids, Tulio adjusts his hands on Miguel, and a low moan is the only answer he receives.

"Bed," Miguel manages, and though Tulio mumbles something about that being so much less exciting, the two stumble over clothes and each other, still entwined, until the backs of Miguel's legs hit the pallet and he sits down hard, Tulio following him.

"Have you missed me?" Tulio asks, his voice a low croon, pushing back the blonde hair he has always thought so lovely. "Have you missed me, partner?"

"Every day," the green eyes watch him, hooded and dark with desire. "Do we have to sit talking all night?"

"I'm still mad at you."

"Of course," Tulio says in a low growl, hands running over Miguel's ribs, thumbs rolling over his nipples. "I don't know how to make it up to you."

"You can't."

"I thought as much," Tulio says with a whimper as Miguel runs hands up his thighs, and Tulio's knees fall open by instinct—by habit.

"D'you remember the first time?" Miguel smiles—really smiles, and it makes something burn in Tulio's chest, the triumph of conquest, the glory of possession and the bone-crunching strength love all at once.

"I couldn't ever forget," Tulio whimpers as Miguel drops to his lap and a lazy grin swims across the dark-haired man's face. "Oh, you remember."

Miguel looks up for a moment and Tulio frowns and opens one eye at the loss of the feeling.

"I remember everything, Tulio." He begins again and Tulio whimpers, shakes, drops back in bliss.

"Your mouth," he sighs out loud, fingers clenching and unclenching without his control. Miguel only hums in reply.

The wind pushes the shutters open with a bang that startles Tulio out of his reverie. He gently lifts Miguel's face, flushed red with his blood, and wipes at the corner of his mouth. "I have bigger plans."

"You've always got bigger plans," Miguel says, a little out of breath, and Tulio tugs on the end of his goatee.

"That's why you're so terribly fond of me," Tulio teases him, grinning easily like a cat, pulling Miguel up onto his chest. The two gaze at each other for a long moment. "It's been too long since I saw you this way."

"Yes," Miguel breathes, and suddenly he doesn't have the patience or the mind for easy, gentle, controlled lovemaking. It's been five years, and he wants Tulio _now_. And without warning he turns over, back to Tulio, wrenching the dark-headed man's wrist by accident. Tulio sulks for half a second before looking up and grinning. Miguel's feet are tucked under him, and the way his back narrows and then rounds out deliciously nearly drives Tulio to distraction.

"This is what you want?" Miguel asks coquettishly and Tulio crawls, hands and knees, and grabs tightly onto Miguel's ass.

"You have no idea how badly," he half-whispers, half-chokes. Miguel smiles again. Tulio has never been very good at hiding what he wants or exerting self-control.

"You want me to forgive you?"

"More than anything," Tulio says in a squeak, squeezing the skin beneath his hands. Miguel turns and pins him by his narrow shoulders, voice gravelly, and Tulio is thrown off and surprised and aroused all at once.

"Then let me," he demands, sounding childish, and he is pleased when Tulio pushes him off and crawls into his lap.

And suddenly shy, Tulio leans up and kisses Miguel softly on the mouth, and the blonde man feels like crying when Tulio places a slender hand on the back of his head and holds him there, and their smiles melt into one.

"With pleasure," Tulio murmurs against Miguel's moist lips, and then Miguel's mouth is gone and two cool pads of fingers replace it. Tulio's tongue flicks out and he watches, proud of Miguel's flickering eyelids.

Tulio hums an idle tune they both learned long ago, cradled in Miguel's strong arms as he gently works his slick fingers against Tulio's tense body. Tulio rests his head against Miguel's chest, trying to steady his breathing and relax. Tulio's voice is calm as he moves his body, trying to assist Miguel.

"You act like we've never done this before."

"It's been so long," Miguel replies in a low voice as he stretches him far more gently than he imagined he would. "You're being patient."

"Same reason," he says quietly, and in that instant the pragmatic, pessimist exterior cracks and the man Tulio really is—sensitive and kind, gentle and protective—shows once more, and Miguel thanks all the Gods he can think of that the real Tulio—_his _Tulio—isn't gone at all.

But Miguel knows better and knows Tulio's frantic mouth, his clutching hands, and he pushes a little deeper and then—there, _there_. "Oh," Tulio gasps, and then grins, and Miguel leans in to kiss him again.

"So you're sure," Miguel asks once more, now that Tulio's body is soft and receptive around his fingers.

"Miguel," Tulio growls, and Miguel doesn't wait for any other response. Gently he lifts Tulio's slender hips and Tulio's fine hands help to guide him and then, with a wince and a groan and a sigh, he is inside and it's like nothing and everything all at once, and Miguel wonders how he's lived without this.

"You are my adventure," Miguel says reverently, beginning to move, Tulio's slim thighs wrapping around Miguel's waist. "You are every journey I desire to take."

"Don't talk," Tulio says, face a mask of pleasure. "Don't talk just now."

And so the two move in quiet, the only sounds the heaviness of breath and the sound of skin on skin.

Down in the street, a horse waits patiently. He grunts as he lays down to rest.

The wind whistles through the room.

Feet slip against a grimy pallet.

Lips meet and part. Bodies adjust and stick together and fall apart. Skin slides against skin. Sweat forms on brows. Hair tosses. Eyelids flutter. Hearts beat.

"I love you," Miguel finally sputters, unable to keep it in any longer. Saying those words is like inhaling after being held so long under water, and Miguel feels free. He curls his hands under Tulio and helps to move them, deeper than he remembers ever being.

"Corazón," Tulio croaks, his forehead against Miguel's as the blonde thrusts erratically now, trying so hard to remain in control of a body submitting to passion. Miguel drops Tulio down and he cries out, _Miguel_, and Miguel clutches his partner, his lover—his Tulio—and swears that he will never let go.

"Do you love me?" Miguel demands, so close now his vision swims white.

"More than all of the treasure in the world," Tulio vows, and Miguel grabs his pointed chin and they kiss fiercely and Miguel cries out, so much joy and so much fear that this has all been a dream. Tulio is still hard in his hand, but a few unsteady jerks solve that.

They collapse together, sweaty and spent and smiling, and Tulio's chest rises as Miguel's falls. They are, for a moment, one person again.

Miguel is quiet, Tulio resting against him. "Will you go again?"

"I haven't anywhere to go." He is quiet. "I haven't got a place to call home. Besides you."

His words make Miguel warm.

"Plus. It's you and me forever, right?" And now it is Tulio who looks worried. "Our promise. Partners. You and me."

The night is pregnant with Miguel's silence and Tulio's blue eyes are wide with sudden fear.

"I'll be your gold if you'll be my adventure," Miguel finally says, voice wry. "Deal?"

And then Tulio has grabbed his hand and is shaking it.

"Deal."

In the street below, a horse snorts at the silly words of two humans.


End file.
